Absolution
by SevenFeetUnder
Summary: Ralph wants absolution for his failures as Chief, and finds he has to repent to everyone he has ever done wrong to including the animal that was once Jack, his torturer Roger and ultimately the Beast itself. Suggested pairings & slash later on.


-I own none of these characters, they are all the creations of William Golding. Although there will be no unexplained pointless sex from the word go, I do intend there to be some later on in the story, so consider this an early warning and a note that the rating might change. Thank you, and enjoy. Reviews and constructive criticism appreciated and encouraged.-

Absolution.

Absolution, if that was the appropriate word, was the only thing Ralph wanted; and yet he had an awful feeling that it lay just out of his grasp. All _they_ had ever wanted was a leader. It was shame that Ralph only just realised these two things at such a late, desperate time.

A shadow rolled in from the crashing waves and swept up the beach, wrapping the figures huddled on the sand in a deep chill. Their breath escaped from them with rhythmic hisses, and drifted idly above their heads; somewhere in the jungle, a pig squealed faintly in a comical high tone. The curled figure that Ralph believed to be Eric abruptly looked away to the waves, watching the continuously sloping sea with feigned interest. How cruel memories were, Ralph thought bitterly; sliding his raw chafed feet across the sand, feeling every single damp grain press against his skin. Ralph sat uncomfortably in a vacuum of silence and crushing guilt; painfully aware of the hopeful gaze of several pairs of eyes upon his person.

All they had ever wanted was a leader; one to admire and relish and follow and love. One that deserved unwavering loyalty; someone to obey without question, a fellow human being to commit oneself to in complete, blind entirety. Authority and control embodied, that was what their bewildered minds had craved; someone that would become as commanding and supreme as the rules that had fixed and shaped their naïve young lives into undeniable purpose and order back at home. Ralph knew, as he supposed he had known all along, that he had failed them in this sense. A leader he was not. An opportunist; a pleasant, agreeable young man yes, maybe-at least compared to the monster that was once Jack Merridew-but a leader, no. No no no, Ralph spoke to himself in a miserable voice in his head; Ralph is not leader, Ralph is not chief. Ralph is a parody of the word "chief", a travesty to the notion of leadership; isn't he?

Automatically, Ralph found himself nodding his head in agreement. Someone was speaking to him, someone hunched against the ground a few feet away. Something that sounded like a concerned voice was floating towards him in the still air; the tone begging for reassurance, the pitch high and distressed. Ralph ignored it. He climbed inside his own mind and listened instead to the voices of his memories.

An awful sense of fluttering begun in the pit of his stomach, and they came in a stream, like a nose-bleed on the inside; one that left no apparent bloody stain, but an undeniable feeling of instability and helplessness. Stern speech tumbled from the mouths of teachers, distorted and hazy within his mind's eye; telling him that he ought to try harder, listen carefully, stop fighting, follow the rules. The rules, the rules! They had forgotten the rules. All at once, he remembered how afraid he had been whenever a teacher or relative had called his name when he had been bad and gone against the rules; "Ralph! Ralph!" they had cried, brandishing a disappointed frown, or a cane like a sharp, straight blade, or a hand itching to strike him.

After all the bad things Ralph had done on the island, after all the bad things Ralph had allowed to go on unchecked in the island, he felt like he needed a good thump; or a thrashing with a cane. As the others wanted a leader, all _he_ wanted was a quick punishment and the glow of forgiveness that came with it.

Absolution.

Absolution would hardly be granted to a person like me, Ralph thought slowly; watching as the images of angry looming faces bled together and faded away. Why would anyone absolve such a useless failure? It was I that allowed these people, my fellows, my _friends_, to descend into this madness. All I ever did was sit back and watch, and talk and talk. Anyone with half a sense _would_ thrash me and beat me, but leave me in this accursed place to bleed alone. I do not deserve absolution, I do not deserve attention. I have failed not only myself, but all those on this island.

Ralph let this astringent self judgement sink into the depths of his mind, he willingly allowed it to drench his skin and seep into every pore. Awash with remorse and regret, he formed his name with his cold, sore lips; speaking it silently to himself as he imagined the cane falling down onto him again and again and again, flogging him like the animal, like the _beast_ he was.

Yet, even as they sat there in complete defeat, utterly defenceless and exposed like an infected wound, Ralph still felt their irrational, childish admiration for him radiating off their aching, shattered bodies. It came now, rushing to envelop him; to wrap him in the comforting notion that they would not turn on him even after he had failed them so appallingly, to soothe him with the undeniable fact that they still regarded him as their chief and would continue to do so blindly even as his abysmal leadership of them resulted in more raids and captures and deaths. Almost immediately, Ralph shook himself free from these comforting thoughts; not daring to allow his tired, guilt-ridden mind to dwell too long on the cruel possibility of manipulating them, manipulating all of them, every single one, in order to assure himself safety from Jack and his animals and protect himself from the other thing, the other beast, that stalked the bad side of the island with them. That was wrong, it wasn't proper-it wouldn't be proper to do that sort of thing. The thought alone of carrying that sort of thing out was enough to make Ralph's insides writhe with shame. All Ralph knew that was he would never resort to doing that sort of thing, even if it became the only thing left to do; even though, as time went past, it seemed more and more likely that it would become their _great leader's_ last option.

All I know is that using people is wrong, Ralph told himself fiercely, silently, all I know is that even the animals don't do that. Animals like the lions and the wolves-they keep in packs and they never abandon their friends; even if the hunters come or they get scared. And we're better than animals, I learnt that at school. Animals are lower than us, and we're higher than the animals, so we should act like we're higher than them, and not the other way round. We-_I_-have to do this properly.

Along the beach, a hunched figure turned to Ralph; and he saw his quivering mouth form words which passed over his ashen lips-although Ralph did not hear them. Hope, admiration and respect spilled from the pale blue eyes even as they fought back tears; pale blue eyes that were now focused entirely on him; awaiting an answer to whatever he had asked, or a few encouraging words. Ralph found his mouth working without the need for him to tell it to, and it crafted a sentence that spoke loudly with the adult voice of purpose and direction;

"All I know is that there is nothing to fear, and that we'll get back soon."

The blue-eyed boy, and indeed all the other boys, seemed satisfied with Ralph's answer; although Ralph himself did not really understand why he had just lied through his teeth to them. He realised that the one that had asked him something had once been a littlun; though time was evidently pressing upon his body and it was in the process of creating him a new one; the one of a teenager. Soon, he would be a lad, a word which Ralph's father and rugby teacher had used, and soon after that, he would be just an arms' length away from adulthood. Not that it mattered; Ralph couldn't even remember the boy's name-although he could remember the look of respect and admiration he had given to him as he had spoken. As though he would ever forgot that look, the look which the other boys had been giving him since Ralph could remember; the haunting, genuine look that sung of deep love for their chief. Ralph hated that look more than he hated Jack and his animal choir-boys, because it symbolised everything he hated about being chief.

The fact that he would always be loved, no matter how many times he failed them abysmally. Like he was stuck on a loop where they were forever giving him a last chance which never was a last chance; and the last chance wouldn't come after that, after that, or after that, and so on. It was the love that haunted him, that drove Ralph to hate them all.

Ralph hated the fact that they loved him so. Why, _how_, could they bring themselves to admire him so fanatically after all the pain and suffering he had brought them? There was no bloody reason or logic to it. It was almost as though they loved him because it was the only thing they had left to do, they had nothing else to cling to. All their love and admiration and respect had, at first, given Ralph a kind of astonishing, delightful buoyancy; back then, when he knew that all of them respected him and considered his words as though he was an adult, their obedience and affection for him had been like the pleasing, warming rays of the sun; beating softly as it did against his back when he had sat on the beach in simple idleness and talked and played around with the beast-boys he now called his enemies.

He had called them friends. They had called him chief.

Back then….he had felt like a proper chief too, even if he was as blind as they were to the fact that he wasn't really a proper leader at all. Inevitably though, that red-haired animal had seen the light, so to speak, and gathered around him his faithful savages; and armed with their spears and the knowledge that Ralph had never been, and would never be, a proper chief, they had set off into the island and only ever sporadically returned to spread terror. Although Ralph had a small number of his own faithful followers; and, just like the fear of the beast and the fear of Jack and his choir boys, their love for him had never waned.

Ralph felt he had some kind of sickness, as he thought that really he ought to delight in the fact that they still followed him and called him their chief; instead of resenting their admiration and feeling bloated with awful, consuming guilt. Wasn't it their option to choose whether or not they follow you? If it is, then it isn't your fault if they choose to do so, is it, eh? Those two arguments had been tearing around inside his head ever since the first troubles began with Jack Merridew and his bloody savages. He ought to be happy for their continuous support, and he was furious at himself for not being able to be happy, but there was no escaping the crushing sensation that rose from the depths of Ralph's mind-the one that told him that he did not deserve their admiration as he had been an awful chief and had given them nothing but pain and fear; and that it was wrong for them to carry on loving him as he did not deserve anything now because of all the times he had failed them.

Love was not something you gave to anyone, for any reason; especially someone that kept failing you. And thus Ralph hated his followers. Loved them, and hated them. He loved them because they were the best friends any boy could wish for, and he needed company like they did; but he hated them because they were being absolutely pathetic for loving him because he did not deserve love, he did not deserve to live; and he hated them because they were also pathetic for hoping that he would work a miracle and save them all. Sometimes his hatred for the astonishing, unconditional love they showed towards him nearly overcame him, and he wanted to scream at them to leave him because he did not deserve them, scream until his throat was raw and his mouth was bloody.

Someone was wailing on the beach, a pitiable wail that told of lost hope and pain. Ralph was suddenly reminded of the annoyances of pain, suffering, and feeling. All of those interferences just formed the top layer of the many things that had hindered him when he had been the real chief, chief of them all. All of that had happened so long ago….all of it had….Ralph failed to remember just _how_ long ago that had been. Crushed, and filled with self-loathing, he gripped at his sun-burnt legs and buried himself deeper in his thoughts.

No more failing. No more failure. All the proper stuff. Get the best out of everything we can….make the best out of the obviously hopeless situation they now found themselves trapped in….

_We're English; and the English are best at everything._

Done the right way. Right things done the right way…. Ralph felt memories stir and lumber within his mind, trembling images that swept in front of his mind's eye; trembling as though they were guilty for making Ralph remember back to the beginning. Awareness flooded back to Ralph, and he was presently aware of something red and warm and sticky around his feet. Ignoring it, Ralph's inside voice floundered on; reassuring him about all the meetings they would hold, when they found a new conch-a prettier one, Ralph thought, and bigger than the last one too-and then the voice in his head became something else, like there was a meeting currently being held in Ralph's head and the conch had been passed on to someone different. A different voice spoke, or maybe it was the same voice, but either way there was a change in it-and this voice was high and quivering with barely-controlled emotion, and as it spoke it rose in pitch and became more insistent and desperate to be heard; like the squealing, frantic voice of the littlun that all the boys had sat and listened to in paralysing terror when Roger had caught it in the forest, when the littlun had strayed too near Jack's side of the island.

This voice was repeating something to Ralph over and over again, anxious to be heard over his own heartbeat, which had risen to a deafening pitch somewhere in his chest, and he was astonished to suddenly realise that it was tapping itself against his rib-cage like the rhythm of a drum; and this voice-the voice he could hear curling in his own ears now-asking him to please do the right thing, please do it proper; please don't let me-don't let us down again-do it properly for us, no more failing me, no more failing us now.

Suddenly Ralph realised that this was an odd thing to say as there was only one voice speaking, and yet, apparently it claimed it was more than one person (us was plural, he had learnt that at school too). A lot of people couldn't talk in one same voice at the same time and sound like only one person unless, maybe, they were twins, lots of twins; only Ralph had only ever known two twins. He was only in charge of one now because the other one, Sam, he believed, had joined the others; the animals that called themselves a choir and wore the filthy ghostly remains of togs and sodden black caps like helmets.

Absolution? The pitiful voice asked him, echoing away into his guilt-absolution? To absolve oneself? To confess, and repent, and right wrongs-to be punished and forgiven? A sore tongue passed over cracked lips somewhere on Ralph's face. _Absolution_? The voice was full of disbelief. It was a refreshing change to hear someone speak to him with doubt. For so long now everyone had obeyed his word like dumb animals. Ralph found his thoughts pressing against his skull now, like someone was leaning against it, hoping to break free.

Eric, a lone figure dwarfed by the angry, thrashing waves, suddenly slumped forwards onto the sand. Ralph knew he was weeping. Ralph knew he was weeping because he missed his brother. That he loved him. Beyond being a brother, a sibling-even a twin brother. Eric had confessed it to him, and Ralph could count his continuing success to keep the secret secret as one of his few successes on the island. Confession….

Absolution, Ralph dreamt, O Lord, I want it. I suppose….I could attempt to attain it….through admitting I've done wrong to the others. If they'll listen to such words, he thought bitterly. Then I suppose I must repent. Repent for my misdeeds. Repent for my evils, my sins.

An image of a boy with a hair of blood-red curls and a mouth twisted into an animalistic snarl seared across his mind's eye. Then there was the sea of painted faces, rising towards him, animalistic fury burning in their eyes; accusing him, hunting him. And of course, there was that solemn, grave little devil who silently watched the world with empty eyes hidden behind a shield of dark hair-Roger. All of these images came to him and formed an awful sort of epiphany-as they were partially his creations, the manifestations of his failures, he would have to face them all and confess his part in their creation. Repentance must be absolute, he thought gravely; I must atone for all my failures, confess to all, and repent for all of them. Accept my punishment.

Briefly, Ralph wondered who would deal out his punishment. He shuddered when he realised that he would prefer Jack to do it. All in all, he concluded, watching Eric sob silently on the sand, the boy's face pressed against the wet ground, an average plan. But he had to have one plan. He had to stick to it. Also, he knew he had to get things right so he could carry it out first.

"The darkness is coming Ralph." A voice, a real one, one from the hellish reality of the island, came piercing through Ralph's thoughts. The sound of a real person's voice eclipsed the one which was whispering urgently to him in his head. I promise, Ralph vowed silently to himself and to the mysterious voice, I promise things will get better. With that, he turned his attentions to the boy who had spoken to him. Another littlun who was being passed up into adolescence. Inhaling deeply, Ralph nodded and laid a hand on the damp sand; as if touching the earth would reassure him that this was life, this was their island, and that soon this island would watch happier scenes unfold on it's virtuous white beaches.

Ralph knew that soon the shadows would pull in the terrifying blankness that was night-and with it, the pulsing fear that came alive in the darkness as the hunters and the beasts and the other chief, the real chief, came out to do the thing they did irrefutably best-hunting. Colour, obscene and menacing, smeared on bare skin; sharpened sticks, for piercing and jabbing. Absolve yourself. The voice had returned and it breathed into Ralph's conscience. Do the right thing.

"We must return to the shelter, all of us, together-and at once." Ralph's voice rose with a surging tone of power, a power that Ralph was surprised he still possessed and was able to express, over the waves, even as they fell with a hushing sound against the sand, as if trying to silence him; and the others drank in his words with fiercely obedient eyes alight with loyalty and respect, trained as one collective eye on his person, then rose as one body towards the shelter near their side of the jungle. Ralph flung his hands into the air as a sign that he had not finished and, as one, his followers stopped and gazed once more upon their chief as he sat upon the sand before them. "Gather together once in the shelter for a special speech I feel I must make to you all. I have devised a new plan that I want to share, a plan that I believe will increase our chances of rescue. Go now, and gather ready for when I arrive-someone take down the shattered conch ready for me and Maurice-" Here, Ralph glanced at a hunched figure who was standing a little distance apart from the rest, as he always did, "Maurice, must be cared for and taken to a safe spot to sit."

Some boys bowed their heads in agreement and acceptance of their chief's words-a recent habit Ralph noticed some of them had taken on, a new habit he already resented deeply-and they all turned and walked into the biting winds that raked along the shore towards the shelter, a unit of desperate but decent young men who had entrusted their lives to another that felt entirely inefficient at governing them and, truthfully, deep down inside his heart, that organ that lay trapped away in an adolescent body but already beat with the worries and thoughts of a weary adult, he felt woefully inadequate to manage the task they had all given him. As he repeated again to himself his self appointed quest of repentance that would hopefully lead him to the absolution he so craved, he cast his gaze away from the tumbling waves, darkening as they were now, the skies themselves assuming the shade of a bruise that Roger himself would be proud of as the darkness crept closer towards them, and instead settled it on the weeping figure of Eric as he walked beside Maurice.

Something in Ralph's heart tore against his chest- no doubt the despair he felt for all his followers, especially those two-and he burnt with guilt as his eyes followed the two broken young men walking side by side along the beach, its sand pure and white and mocking the darkness they all knew would soon come and consume the peace, the darkness that Ralph feared they all harboured and nurtured inside their own hearts. Ralph found himself secretly hoping that not only would he attain his absolution and get the others rescued, he prayed also that it was not too late to rescue the precious, mysterious thing inside him that he could not name but felt he had lost a long time ago, at the hands and piercing ice blue gaze of the animal that once called itself Jack Merridew.


End file.
